


Soft Spot

by endofadream



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Just lots of fluff, M/M, ur welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a cat in the living room when Ian gets home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Spot

There’s a cat in the living room when Ian gets home.

It’s a kitten, to be exact, small and orange with muddy stripes and a patchy coat. It’s trembling in the middle of their worn sofa, hunkered down in a nest of old blankets. As he shuts the door and shucks his coat, warily eyeing the kitten, Ian hears the rattling of plates in the tiny kitchen just out of view; when he steps into it after hanging his coat up on the coat rack he finds Mickey holding a tiny dish filled with milk.

“There’s a cat in the living room.” Ian says casually by way of greeting.

“No shit.” Mickey carefully balances the dish as he walks into the living room, offers nothing by the way of any other explanation as to _why_ the cat is there in the first place, which definitely isn’t unusual for Mickey. Most of the time Ian’s lucky to get a straight answer out of him in the first place.

Ian follows him, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, watching as Mickey crouches down level with the kitten. He places the bowl of milk down on the floor and the kitten gives this pathetic little mewl that has Ian feeling bad for about five seconds before he’s slipping back into his indifference.

“Do I want to know why?”

“It was a stray, man. I found it on my way home from work.”

Ian wants to point out that, yes, this is New York; there are a lot of stray animals and they can’t go around rescuing every one that comes across their path. But he’s never actually seen Mickey _care_ about something else before, much less something not human, and Ian’s been around him enough to know that that’s Mickey’s caring face: furrowed brows; teeth clamped down on his lower lip; an almost too intense look of concentration. Hell, Ian’s seen it directed at him too many times to count.

Instead, Ian just sighs and says, “We can’t keep him. We’re just gonna have to take him to a shelter or something.”

Mickey’s head snaps up quickly. “Why the fuck not?”

Ian raises his hands. “I’m just saying, man. I’ve never been a pet person. They’re too much responsibility, and I’ve already got you to look after—”

“You’re a fuckin’ riot, asshole.”

Ian just grins, lets his hands fall back to his sides. “That’s just how I feel, Mick.” From the couch the kitten makes another sad little noise and immediately Mickey is turning back towards it, reaching out to pet its ragged coat. Ian would be annoyed if it wasn’t so cute seeing his tough and abrasive boyfriend suddenly so _soft_. If Ian’s not mistaken, Mickey’s also murmuring in a quiet voice to the kitten. _Murmuring_.

He chuckles without really meaning to and Mickey turns to him, suddenly defensive even as his hand stays splayed out over the kitten’s tiny back, like he’s trying to protect it or keep it from running. “The fuck’s so funny?”

“I just never pegged you as an animal lover,” Ian replies, because he hadn’t. He’s pegged Mickey for a lot of other things, all of which are far from the realm of _anything_ lover. However, Mickey Milkovich is nothing if not an enigma that is simultaneously constantly solving itself and presenting new problems.

“Cats are cool,” Mickey says, nonchalant, picking up the kitten and placing it on the floor next to the bowl, urging it to drink. “They don’t give a shit, ya know? If they like you they like you. If they don’t they don’t. If they want to be around you they will.”

“Kinda like you?” Ian teases, partly because he can and Mickey won’t hit him (hard), and mostly because it’s true.

“Fuck off,” Mickey says, but the corners of his mouth twitch upward all the same. The kitten is swaying on its paws, sniffing hesitantly around the bowl. Ian thinks that you aren’t supposed to feed cats milk but he holds off on mentioning that. “Mandy was allergic and I always figured Terry would manage to kill it or somethin’, if one of my brothers didn’t get to it first.” Mickey shrugs. “And we couldn’t even feed ourselves half the time anyway. I ain’t gonna add animal killer to my rap sheet.”

Ian knows the struggle, is familiar with it in ways he wishes that he weren’t, though never quite as bad as what Mickey had to go through. They’d had that turtle that Debbie and Carl had killed, but after and before there had been nothing. Ian had been fine with that.

But now…Ian sighs, watches the kitten stagger closer to the bowl and slowly crouch down. There is a certain pathetic cuteness to it, and he and Mickey _do_ have their own place now and the freedom to do whatever they want. A cat isn’t necessarily a bad idea, and it _would_ be nice to have another presence around.

He caves the moment the kitten starts lapping milk from the bowl in noisy slurps. Ian thinks that, if Mickey were a more emotive person, he’d be cooing right now.

“Fine. We can keep him,” he says, rolling his eyes and sitting on the floor next to Mickey. They both watch the cat drink and listen to its tiny gulps as it swallows. “But you’re cleaning the litter box.”

The grin and subsequent kiss that Mickey gives him makes Ian’s stomach flip and his heart flutter pleasantly in that way that he always cherishes.

——

Ian aches with want so badly right now that it feels like all of his joints have locked up, stiff, and he’s trembling, buzzing like there’s a hive of bees just under his skin. They’re naked already, Mickey’s mouth hot and slick against his as they tumble onto the bed.

“Fuck,” he breathes, because it’s all he can think, a litany of _fuck_ streaming through his mind of a loop. It’s what Mickey usually reduces him too, these primal sounds and thoughts, and Ian thought that by now some of it would have fizzled out, but every time is just as electric as that first time, and he’s drunk off of it in ways he’s never been drunk before.

Mickey clutches tight to Ian’s shoulders, breathing hard, kissing Ian fervently like it’s impossible to stop. They’re both hard, keyed-up, and all Ian wants is to be inside Mickey, to make up for the days this week where they’ve both been too busy or too tired.

A meow interrupts them, followed by a slump thump on the bed. Then a louder meow, and Ian looks over, groans and closes his eyes when he sees the kitten standing, tail straight up in the air. He knew he should have shut the door. “Mickey, the fucking cat is watching us have sex.”

“So he’s a voyeur; so fuckin’ what? Just get on me, Gallagher.”

“I’m not gonna do this anymore. It’s weird—”

“I swear to fucking god,” Mickey says, louder, looking incensed when Ian opens his eyes and stares down, meets Mickey’s blown-black eyes and swallows hard at the surging bolt of straight lust that rumbles through his body. “You better get your dick inside me like right fucking now.”

He grabs Ian’s face, kisses him hard and bruising, lifting a leg up to wrap it around Ian’s hip. Ian moans into Mickey’s mouth, and if he gently pushes the cat off of the bed, well, their clothes are down there for him to land on, anyway.


End file.
